A Drink on the Rocks
by Youkai-ChoGonou
Summary: A very short drabble with historical reference. An Angel falls and a Demon is there to catch him.


"Really, dear? World War Two? That was all you, was it?" The Angel was sitting next to the demon on the edge of a lovely cliff somewhere on the Amalfi coast of Italy. They had just dined at the wonderful restaurant Marina Grande. It had a lovely view, but where they were now was just breathtaking. You literally needed wings to work your way into their current position, guaranteeing they wouldn't be bothered by more than birds and bugs.

The demon squirmed, passing the ever-full bottle of a rather crisply flavorful Pinot Grigio to the angel. He let his head fall back, allowing his shades to fall up his face, resting over his forehead. Crowley sucked in a breath and let his head fall back down, glasses tumbling into his lap.

"I guess you could come to that conclusion." Crowley admitted, watching the angel out of the corner of his eyes. He saw the man stiffen at the admission.

"I don't know whether I should chastise myself for being surprised or smite you right here." Aziraphale topped off his own glass with the bottle before setting it down. He never questioned why the bottle was full after each time the demon handed it to him. By now, he knew better than to question it.

"Now, just a minute, Angel. I didn't do much, really. I saw an idea in the bloke's head and might have given it a little push, but I didn't think he'd actually _act_ on it. That's all I did. And before you start, the Camps and all that were all him. I only saw him in passing." He swallowed down a few gulps of wine before continuing, "'s like I keep saying; humans are worse than Us. Well, not _you_ and me, but, y'know," He motioned downward with one hand, the other sloshing wine about from his glass.

Aziraphale noticed the sudden slurred speech and raised an eyebrow. This must really be a topic the other wished not to confront if he was openly allowing himself to become quickly intoxicated. He sighed and did the same, closing his eyes and taking a long drink from his glass. He lowered it, setting it against his knee, looking up into the clouds. The clink of glass on glass brought his attention back to Earth, noticing the demon topping off his glass for him, careful not to slosh any more of the liquid.

"It's good, this." He held up the glass and took another drink.

"What about you?" The demon asked, looking over the brim of his sunglasses as they slipped down his nose, having been replaced not moments before. "I heard you had a hand in the war too." For the second time tonight, he watched the Angel's posture stiffen again.

"I was simply following Divine orders." Now it was Aziraphale's turn to appear uncomfortable. He hadn't liked it, but he'd done what he was told. Normally, he didn't involve himself in normal wars. This was a war of racism and he hated how it had involved both religion and race as its key points, but it was really none of his business. Not until the Blitz, anyway, in which he'd had a terrible time finding any peace to read. All of the deaths and casualties… "I… might have stalled the Japanese warning to the American base in Pearl Harbour. The Metatron assured me it was for the Greater Good." And that was what helped him sleep at night… well, he didn't really sleep, but it was what eased his mind. There were times, especially in much earlier years, when Holy Wars were in abundance, that he'd done things under Divine Order that didn't seem very divine at the time. But he was always assured that the outcome would be much worse otherwise. Needs of the many and all that.

A good few hours passed before the pair finished off their bottle. Neither seemed very eager to reach the bottom, but the demon came to realize that they could only sit here so long before they became part of the scenery. So, he put an end to the never-ending bottle and helped the Angel finish it off. Crowley found himself grinning in amusement at said Angel as he upended the bottle, staring down the neck of it at the empty bottom as if it would suddenly realize it wasn't really empty and refill itself. Probably Crowley's fault, seeing as it had been doing that for most of the night.

"Guess that's it then, eh?" The Angel slurred, setting it down and sighing.

"'s almossst a shame to sober up." The demon commented remorsefully.

Both the demon and angel stood, unfurling their nearly identical wings when something terrible happened. Aziraphale's footing gave out under him. There was a moment when their eyes met. Crowley's large yellow eyes were visible over his shades, widened with shock. Aziraphale's clear blues were equally saucer-shaped. Without a second thought, Crowley lunged, but his drunken coordination caused him to miss the Angel's wrist. The man fell out of reach.

"Wings, Angel! Fly you daft—FLY!" Crowley watched in morbid horror as the other fell, back first, towards the raging rocky waters below. He spread his wings, but without righting himself, it wouldn't do much good. The demon didn't realize it until he felt the rush of salty air against his skin that he'd taken a leap after the falling man. His wings were streamlined behind him, hoping to increase his falling speed so he could catch up to Aziraphale before he hit. The man couldn't truly die, not like this, so he wasn't sure why he was so worked up, but it would take him quite a while to get a new body.

Aziraphale felt a pair of strong hands grip his wrists. He watched as, the moment they were linked, the demon spread his wings and flapped hard, stalling their descent before stopping it altogether. With some effort, his dark haired companion managed to keep them airborne long enough for Aziraphale to right himself and pick up his own weight with a few generous flaps of his own wings. They both sobered up rather quickly thereafter.

On the flight home, the Angel suddenly covered his face with one hand and laughed. It almost sounded manic out of the blue as it was. They had both been silent since the near-death experience.

"Not sure what's so funny…" Crowley stated dryly.

"You, dear boy." The Angel managed through small fits of laughter.

"I don't follow." If his tone could get more irritated, it just had.

"Would it not have been more advantageous for you to have let me fall? You could do whatever you liked until I was issued a new body."

"I already do whatever I like." The demon snapped back quickly. He already knew what Aziraphale was getting at, but he wouldn't admit it aloud.

The Angel hummed his agreement, but he was still smiling far too brightly for the demon's liking.

"If I had been the one to fall, wouldn't you have caught me?" Now Crowley's tone was defensive.

"Of course, but it's in my nature." The Angel added with what Crowley could swear was a playful hint to his tone. Well, he'd have to fix that, wouldn't he?

"But I'm an agent of the Adversary." Crowley retorted coolly.

"That you are." This sobered up any remaining giggles in the Angel's voice. "I still stand by my answer." He added, however.

"And I mine." The serpent grinned, pushing his shades up his face as he flew into an orange sky with the Angel following close behind.


End file.
